“He covered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of pain. There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.”—Oscar Wilde (via delacroix)
As I'm standing here and you hold my hand, pull me towards you and we start to dance. All around us, I see nobody. Here in silence it's just you and me. I've been spending all my time just thinking bout you. I don't know what to do, think I'm falling for you.